Chapter 66: The Forbidden Forest
Tamara's impassioned speech in the Slytherin common room had been a masterclass in manipulation. She had successfully twisted a crisis of trust into a fanatical cult of personality, wrapping her housemates around her little finger. Yet, despite her flawless performance, it could not erase one cruel, glaring fact.
The house points were gone. Detention was absolute.
Later that evening, the heavy oak door of Professor McGonagall's office clicked shut behind them. The air inside was thick and stifling. Tamara stood in a neat line alongside Draco, Harry, Hermione, and Ron. The faint ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner only amplified the dreadful silence.
Professor McGonagall sat rigidly behind her desk. Her lips were pressed into a thin, unforgiving line, though the faint shadows beneath her spectacles betrayed a deep exhaustion. Beside her, perched precariously atop a towering stack of heavy spellbooks, stood the diminutive Professor Flitwick. His squeaky shoes shifted nervously against the leather bindings, and his eyes darted toward Tamara with obvious distress.
"I trust you all comprehend the sheer gravity of your foolishness," Professor McGonagall said. Her voice clipped the air like a pair of cold shears. "At eleven o'clock tonight, you will serve your detention." She paused, letting the dread settle over the first-years. "Mr. Filch will be waiting for you in the Entrance Hall."
Draco flinched visibly, his pale face draining of whatever color remained. Beside him, Ron swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in terror. Argus Filch was the resident boogeyman of Hogwarts. The bitter caretaker muttered endlessly about the good old days of hanging disobedient children from the dungeon ceilings by their ankles. To a group of eleven-year-olds, he was a walking nightmare.
"Minerva..." Professor Flitwick interjected. His high-pitched voice wavered with a pleading note. "For first-year students, isn't handing them over to Argus a bit... excessive?"
He looked at the Transfiguration professor with wide, hopeful eyes before shifting his gaze directly to Tamara.
"Especially Miss Riddle."
The Charms master made no effort to hide his blatant favoritism for his star pupil. "She has recently been assisting me in cataloging some highly delicate Ancient Runes materials. If at all possible, could she not serve her detention in my office? It would be the perfect opportunity to conclude that vital work."
It was a shameless rescue attempt. Following Filch meant scrubbing bedpans without magic, polishing silver until their fingers bled, or patrolling drafty, freezing corridors. In stark contrast, sorting parchments in Professor Flitwick's cozy, fire-lit office was nothing short of a luxury vacation.
Ron shot Tamara a look of pure, unadulterated envy. Harry and Hermione exchanged surprised glances, clearly taken aback by the open bias. Draco, however, merely lifted his chin, a smug smirk playing on his lips. Look at that, his posture screamed. Even when the boss gets caught, she gets the royal treatment. That is the difference between Slytherin royalty and you foolish Gryffindors.
Professor McGonagall's brow furrowed. Her fingers tapped a slow, rhythmic beat against the edge of her desk. "Filius, while I am equally aware of Miss Riddle's exceptional talents, rules are rules..."
"This is not merely about punishment, Minerva, it is a matter of basic safety!" Professor Flitwick squeaked, nearly losing his footing on the books. "The itinerary for tonight's detention involves going to... that place. To send our brightest student into such peril, if anything were to happen to her..."
That place?
Tamara kept her face perfectly blank, but her dark eyes caught the candlelight for a fraction of a second. Her brilliant mind immediately began calculating. Filch leading a midnight excursion, combined with Flitwick's hushed, terrified tone... There was only one location on the grounds that warranted such dread.
The Forbidden Forest.
Why send students into the Forbidden Forest? Tamara sifted through the fragmented, dusty archives of her previous life's memories. The air outside was warming; it was late spring. She recalled a passing comment from that oafish half-giant, Hagrid. He had been blubbering into his ale about something pure getting hurt in the woods.
Unicorns.
A jolt of cold realization struck Tamara. The main soul. The pathetic, withered fragment of her former self currently leeching off the back of Quirinus Quirrell's head. That remnant was so degraded, so utterly desperate for life force to anchor its physical form, that it had resorted to hunting down unicorns and drinking their silver blood!
Her pupils shrank to pinpricks. If that wretched main soul continued to gorge itself on unicorn blood, it would regain its strength. Yes, slaying a creature of such purity carried a terrible, half-life curse, but Tamara knew better than anyone. A curse meant absolutely nothing to Lord Voldemort. Survival was the only metric that mattered.
If that parasite recovered too much power, Quirrell would become a genuine threat. He might accelerate his plans to steal the Philosopher's Stone, or worse... he might sense her. He might recognize the anomaly of her existence and decide to eliminate a potential rival before she could fully bloom.
I absolutely cannot let that decrepit fossil succeed.
Tamara made her decision in a heartbeat. She had to enter the Forbidden Forest. She needed to assess the main soul's current state with her own eyes. And if the opportunity presented itself... even if she lacked the raw magical output to kill him right now, she would sabotage his hunt. She would starve him out.
Professor McGonagall sighed, the rigid set of her shoulders dropping a fraction. "Very well, Filius. Since you insist so strongly, perhaps Miss Riddle could..."
"No, Professor."
A soft, yet unyielding voice cut through the air, halting the two Heads of House. Tamara stepped forward, her posture straight, placing herself at the very front of the miserable lineup of first-years.
Professor Flitwick nearly toppled off his books. "Tamara? My dear girl, this is a rare exception, you do not need to..."
"I thank you deeply for your kindness, Professor Flitwick." Tamara executed a flawless, graceful bow. Her etiquette was the picture of pureblood perfection. She injected her voice with a sickeningly sweet dose of sincere gratitude, layering it with the tragic, noble resolve of a martyr. "It would be my absolute honor to assist you with your research. If you still require my aid tomorrow, I am more than willing to sacrifice my free time to help you."
She slowly raised her head. Her dark, sorrowful eyes swept over Draco, Harry, Hermione, and Ron.
"But tonight, I cannot accept your special treatment."
"Why ever not?" Flitwick asked, wringing his small hands.
"Because we made this mistake together." Tamara lowered her voice, letting a slight, emotional tremor bleed into her words. "Whether as a proud member of Slytherin, or simply as... their friend."
She reached out, her pale fingers coming to rest gently upon Draco's shoulder. The blonde boy instantly stiffened, puffing out his chest as if he had just been knighted by the Queen herself.
"If I hide away in a warm, comfortable office while leaving them to face danger and punishment alone, then I am entirely unworthy of the silver and green. I would not be fit to call myself a Slytherin." She looked directly into Professor McGonagall's eyes, her expression fiercely determined. "We acted as a team, and so we must bear the consequences as a team. No matter what horrors lie ahead in the dark, I will stand by their side."
The sheer, unadulterated righteousness of her speech hung in the air, thick and intoxicating.
Harry stared at Tamara, his green eyes practically glowing with renewed, fanatical worship. Tamara... he thought, his chest tight with emotion. She is throwing away her safety... just for us.
Hermione bit her lower lip, her eyes shining with deep admiration. The raw courage Tamara was displaying—the willingness to share in their suffering rather than take the easy way out—was the very essence of bravery. It was more Gryffindor than the entire Gryffindor house combined.
Professor McGonagall sat frozen behind her desk. She gazed through her square spectacles at the slender, black-haired girl standing before her. Slowly, the harsh, unforgiving lines bracketing the professor's mouth began to soften. Minerva McGonagall had always possessed a deep, abiding respect for students who took responsibility for their actions and stood by their peers, regardless of the colors on their robes.
"Oh, my..." Professor Flitwick dabbed at his eyes with the sleeve of his robes. He looked heartbroken yet overwhelmingly proud. "What a remarkably good child... she truly possesses a heart of pure gold."
"Very well, Miss Riddle." Professor McGonagall gave a slow, measured nod. The icy edge had completely melted from her voice, replaced by a warm current of genuine respect. "Since you insist upon this path, I will honor your choice. Your sense of duty and loyalty has left a deep impression on me tonight."
Tamara offered a modest, gentle smile, the very picture of humble grace under praise. "Thank you for your understanding, Professor."
Beneath her angelic facade, she was sneering so hard she practically bared her fangs.
Oh, you gullible fools. My dear, pathetic main soul... hold on tight. I am coming for you.
Eleven o'clock arrived with the chilling toll of the bell tower.
The Entrance Hall was drafty and swallowed in shadows. Argus Filch stood waiting, a dim, sputtering oil lamp clutched in his bony hand. A twisted, malicious grin stretched across his weathered, deeply lined face.
"Follow me," he rasped, his voice like dry leaves scraping over stone. "I expect this will be the very last time any of you lot get the urge to wander the castle at midnight. Oh, yes... where we are going tonight, you will be regretting your choices until your guts turn green."
"W-where are we going?" Draco asked, his voice trembling violently.
"The Forbidden Forest," Filch replied, his eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. "If I were you, boy, I wouldn't be asking so many questions. I'd be praying you don't cross paths with a hungry werewolf."
He led the miserable procession out the heavy oak doors and into the biting night air. They trudged across the dark, dew-soaked grass, heading straight for the looming, jagged tree line of the Forbidden Forest.
Rubeus Hagrid was waiting for them at the edge of the woods. The massive half-giant held a heavy crossbow in one hand, a quiver of thick bolts strapped to his back. His boarhound, Fang, whined nervously at his massive boots.
Hagrid's usually jovial face was pulled tight with anxiety. He looked deadly serious. "You're late, Filch," he grunted.
"No need to rush to your doom, Hagrid," Filch sneered, shoving the students forward. "Enjoy yourselves, you little brats. That is, if you manage to come back in one piece."
With a raspy, hacking cackle, the caretaker turned on his heel and hobbled back toward the safety of the castle.
"Alright, listen close," Hagrid said, his heavy sigh puffing out a cloud of white mist in the cold air. He looked down at the five first-years. "We've got a dangerous job to do tonight. Somethin' bad has happened in the forest. Somethin's been huntin' the unicorns."
He raised his lantern higher, casting a circle of yellow light onto the damp earth.
There, splattered across the rotting leaves and twisted roots, was a thick puddle of liquid. It shimmered with an ethereal, silvery-white glow, looking hauntingly beautiful and utterly tragic against the dark mud.
"That there is unicorn blood," Hagrid said, a thick tremor in his gruff voice. "That's the second one I've found this week. There's a monster... roamin' around in the dark."
Harry and Hermione gasped in unison. Draco whimpered, his hands shooting out to grab a fistful of Tamara's robes. His knuckles were white, his nails digging painfully through the fabric into her arm.
Tamara ignored him. She stood perfectly still, her dark eyes locked onto that glowing puddle of silver.
This was exactly what she had been looking for. The bloody trail left behind by her own fractured soul.
[Ding! High-risk mission triggered: Pure Guardian.]
The System's voice, usually a grating fountain of perky, sickeningly sweet positivity, suddenly dropped an octave. It sounded exceptionally serious, ringing in her head with blaring urgency.
[Detected an extremely evil Dark Arts creature hunting sacred unicorns in the Forbidden Forest. This behavior is not only unspeakably cruel but also severely disrupts the delicate balance of nature and virtue!]
[It is an absolute desecration of life!]
[As a future radiant leader of the wizarding world, how can you possibly tolerate such vile evil occurring right under your very nose?]
[Mission Objective: Venture deep into the Forbidden Forest to stop this evil existence from claiming another unicorn's life. Or, at the very least... protect your innocent classmates from being slaughtered by the monster.]
[Mission Reward: Courage +10.]
Plus ten?
Tamara's perfectly sculpted brow twitched upward. Usually, the System's pathetic little daily quests handed out a measly point or two. Offering ten points in a single lump sum was unheard of.
It meant the System calculated the danger level of tonight's excursion to be astronomically high. Or, more accurately, it recognized the main soul of Lord Voldemort as an entity of ultimate, unadulterated evil.
You do not need to tell me twice, Tamara thought coldly.
She slid her fingers down her sleeve, her skin brushing against the smooth, familiar wood of her holly wand. Her gaze pierced the pitch-black canopy of the woods, staring into the abyss as if she could already see a pair of glowing crimson eyes staring back.
That decrepit fossil actually thinks he can revive himself?
She sneered in the dark confines of her mind. The suffocating, absolute arrogance of a true Dark Lord flared to life within her chest, burning away the gentle schoolgirl facade.
Did you bother to ask for my permission first?
Her grip on her wand tightened until her knuckles ached.
In this world, there can only be one Lord Voldemort.
And that is me.
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